


Cyrano de BROgerac

by Moonsault, orphan_account



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Love Letters, M/M, Secret Admirer, misunderstandings and miscommunications
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:32:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonsault/pseuds/Moonsault, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mojo Rawley asks Colin Cassady to ghost-write love letters to his secret crush.  How exactly to woo Enzo Amore with the written word?  Big Cass has a problem on his hands--not the least of which being that he's in love with Enzo himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cyrano de BROgerac

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lilihierax (Cerberus_Brulee)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberus_Brulee/gifts).



_”You’re from New York, bro!”_

Cass blinked at Mojo Rawley, standing in front of him and staring with an intensity that was nearly making his eyes cross.

“Uh, yeah, man. It’s not exactly a secret.”

“You can help me! I need your help so bad, man, _so bad._ ”

Mojo Rawley was clearly making a tremendous effort to stand still long enough to talk to him, so Cass put his book down and focused.

“What can I help you with, Mojo?”

Mojo threw his hands in the air, jogging from side to side in delight. “I knew you’d help! I knew it! You’re the best!”

“I didn’t say I’d--ah, forget it. What’s the matter?”

It took a while to get the full story out of Mojo, who seemed even more wild-eyed than usual. It was always kind of like trying to drink from a fire hose, talking to Mojo Rawley; after a while one tended to give up and just hope for the best. 

“You’re from New York!” he repeated a few times. “Right next door, right next door to where he’s from, and man, I don’t get him sometimes! Not from the area! But you get him! I know you do! So you can help me!”

Cass put the pieces together with an effort and realized Mojo must be talking about Enzo--he got that a lot, people needing Cass to translate from Enzo back into English. “You got a problem with him?”

“Problem? Yeah! I got a big problem! I love him!”

Cass put his jaw back into place.

Mojo, apparently taking his silence as an invitation to wax eloquent, delivered a Mojo-esque tribute to the perfection of his beloved: “Can’t think of anyone but him! His hair, his eyes, his voice! He’s so awesome! So amazing! He’s so--so--he’s so everything! I need your help! Gotta impress him! He’s so cool! So smart!” Mojo looked as crestfallen as a man could while vibrating in place with his eyes bugging out. “I’m not so smart!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say--”

“Not my thing! My thing is being hyped! Not so much the--” He waved his arms frantically. “--The words thing! Need your help! You know him--you’re smart--you’ll help me write him!”

“Write him?”

“LOVE LETTERS!” Cass had never heard that phrase bellowed before. “Tell him how amazing he is, how much I love him! I’d die for him, man, I swear to God I’d die for him!” Mojo looked around the room as if he were considering doing so on the spot, and Cass made ineffectual shushing motions.

“Chill man, chill,” he said, knowing it was useless. “Okay, whatever, Mojo, I’ll write him.”

Mojo threw his arms around him in a crushing hug. “You’re the best! No, you’re not the best! He’s the best! But you’re good! I’M SO HYPED!”

The door slammed behind him, and Cass took a moment to compose himself. Obviously Mojo had come to him because he was friends with Enzo and trusted that Cass knew him well enough to get access to his locker and stuff. Which made sense. There was no way he could have known that Cass--

Well. No matter. Resolutely, Cass put that aside. Enzo might even go for someone high-energy like Mojo. The least Cass could do was help the guy have a chance, right?

He ruled out using email or social media pretty fast--he didn’t want access to any of Mojo’s accounts, thank you very much. So the old-fashioned way it was.

He grabbed a notepad--no way was Enzo going to believe Mojo Rawley had bought a card or anything--and started jotting on it. How hard could it be to write a love letter that sounded like Mojo Rawley, right?

* * *

Cass wadded up another piece of paper and threw it across the room, where it joined a quickly-growing pile. He caught a glimpse of a scrawled sentence ( _I know it doesn’t seem it, but I’m a little shy, and--_ ) and sighed. The problem was none of them sounded like Mojo, and they all sounded distressingly like _Cass_. Especially when he wrote about how hard it was to keep from just wrapping his arms around Enzo and kissing the top of his head sometimes. Or when he found himself finishing a long discussion of how exciting it had been to tag with him in Brooklyn, and how hot he had looked in that white gear, and how he’d look even hotter with the gold he deserved around his beautiful waist.

No, this would never do. How would Mojo Rawley woo someone? He wouldn’t write them a long letter, Mojo didn’t have that kind of concentration. It would have to be something short. Something simple.

Cass smiled.

* * *

“What the heck is this?” Enzo said, peeling a sticky note off of his locker. He looked down at it. “It says _You’re the best,_ but they misspelled ‘you’re,’ and added about ten exclamation points.”

“Aw,” said Zack Ryder, pulling it off his finger. “You’ve got a secret admirer, Amore! Looks like a really enthusiastic one, too. Hey, Mojo!” he called as Mojo came out of the shower wrapped in a towel, shaking all over and yelping like an over-zealous golden retriever about what a great shower that had been, the _best shower ever_. “Did you see who left this?”

Mojo blinked at the little yellow note in Zack’s hand and shrugged. Cass cleared his throat and gave him a meaningful glance, and the blankness in Mojo’s eyes gave way to delight. _”I wrote that!”_ he announced. “That was me!” He danced in place for a bit, then pounded on a random locker. “I wrote that!” he repeated at the top of his lungs, then abruptly turned red, gulped a few times, and bolted from the room.

“You forgot to get dressed!” Enzo called after him as startled cries drifted back from the corridor. He took the sticky note back from Zack. “Wait, did Mojo Rawley just admit he has a crush on me?”

“I know this is hard to believe, but I think he’s a little shy,” Cass said.

Enzo’s eyebrows rose. “He’s not exactly my type,” he said. 

“Really?” Zack looked up from his gym bag. “I’d think you two would be a good match.”

Enzo shrugged. “I usually go for someone who’s a better listener, you know? Shame to talk with no one listening.” A flash of cocky smile, and Enzo tacked the sticky note up in his locker. “Still, it’s kind of cute.”

Cass resolutely ignored the sinking feeling that seemed to be centered somewhere around his heart. If Enzo already thought Mojo was cute, he was making good progress.

That was good. Yes. That was good.

* * *

From then on, Enzo regularly found little sticky notes here and there in his gear: “Your theme music makes me happy!” or “Love working with you!” or “That promo was hype!” Cass made sure to mention little details that showed Mojo was really paying attention: “What an enzigurry!” (Cass was pretty sure that’s how Mojo would spell “enzuigiri”); “Dora the Explorer, ha ha!” He even risked getting less terse now and then: “You look tired! Get some rest!” “Don’t get discouraged! You’ll win the next one!” It was difficult, keeping himself to brief sentences and choppy phrases, when what he really wanted to write was line after line explaining that he felt stronger with Enzo in the ring with him, that he felt safer when he was helping Enzo, that he felt taller when he was lifting Enzo up. How he wanted to press that microphone tattoo to his own lips and whisper against it that Enzo was his secret fierce heart, the voice that gave him a voice.

But those weren’t things Mojo Rawley would write. 

Enzo was definitely warming up to Mojo: “I never knew he was paying so much attention to me,” he confided to Cass once. Which was understandable, because Mojo didn’t _seem_ to be paying much attention to Enzo at all, even when Enzo started making small talk with him more often. Cass started to feel a sullen hurt on Enzo’s behalf when Mojo couldn’t stand still long enough to talk with Enzo, running off to practice with Ryder instead.

“I guess he’s better at writing than talking,” Cass said when Enzo looked puzzled at being blown off yet again.

“He’s a sweetheart in writing,” Enzo agreed. “But he’s kind of a big meathead everywhere else,” he added, frowning.

* * *

Mojo was practicing in one of the side rings when Cass caught up to him. “Mojo, man, you gotta tell him how you really feel.” Mojo had gotten up and left when Enzo sat down next to him in the cafeteria that afternoon, and Cass had had about enough of it. “Stop avoiding him and just ask him directly if he feels the same way, all right?” _Then I can at least stop writing these damn notes,_ he thought miserably.

“Not avoiding him!” Mojo said, looking surprised. “I wouldn’t avoid him! Wanna be with him all the time!”

“Well, you got a funny way of showing it,” snapped Cass. “Look,” he said as Enzo and Ryder come into the gym, “I’m pretty sure the notes have done the trick. He told me he thinks you’re a sweetheart.”

Mojo turned bright pink. _”Really?”_ He started to ricochet off the ropes like a demented ping-pong ball and Cass had to put out a hand and stop him. “You’re the best, Cass! I knew you could do it!” He jumped up and down. _”Yeah!”_

“Okay, well, time to take that energy and just...ask him out,” said Cass. _Get it over with._ He pointed over at Enzo, still chatting with Ryder near the door. “You can do it, bro! Get hyped and get over there!”

“I don’t get hyped! I--”

“--yeah, yeah, I know,” said Cass, slapping him on the back. “So go get ‘em, okay?”

“YEAH!” said Mojo, and vaulted over the ropes to run over to Enzo. Cass leaned on the top rope, watching as Mojo stopped in front of Enzo, feeling a sense of--satisfaction, right? He’d engineered all of this, he’d set it all up, his brilliant plan had worked. 

He bit back on a desperate yell at Mojo to stop, to come back, to get your ludicrous yappy paws off of him, he deserves better than you, he deserves--

 _”I love you, bro!”_ Mojo bellowed, and it was too late, it was all too late, he’d lost Enzo forever, he--wait, what?

“Bro!” Zack Ryder yelled back at Mojo, who was clutching his shoulders. 

“Bro!” yelled Mojo.

“Bro! I thought you loved _him,_ bro!” said Zack, pointing to Enzo.

“Bro! No way, bro! I mean, he’s a bro, but you’re my _bro_! Love you, man! Always have! Always will!”

“But--” Zack looked confused for a moment. “But the notes--”

“I asked Cass to write them! Not good with words! I told him! He helped!”

Zack looked at Cass’s startled face and Cass saw him put everything together. A delighted grin spread across Zack’s face. “Bro!”

“Bro!” Mojo yelled tenderly. “Are we good, bro?”

“We’re good! We’re--we’re really, really good! Let’s go get dinner, bro!”

Mojo jumped up and down like a jackhammer until Zack grabbed his arm, grinning affectionately, and they departed.

Cass sat down hard in the middle of the ring.

Enzo sauntered over, climbed into the ring, and sat down next to him. “So,” he said, “That didn’t go like you expected, huh?”

“Nope.”

“You thought he was in love with me.”

“Yep.”

“And he’s not.”

“Nope.” Cass managed to rouse himself from his stupor to mutter a shame-faced, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Enzo stared at him. “What for?”

“You thought--I mean, you said he was a sweetheart and now he’s--”

“I said he was a sweetheart _in his notes,_ dope,” said Enzo, slugging his shoulder. “You know? The notes he didn’t write?” He peered at Cass’s face. “The ones you wrote?”

Cass felt his face going red and looked away.

“Someone was keeping an eye on me,” Enzo said. Cass felt hands capture his chin and turn him back to face Enzo, who had an oddly gleeful grin on his face. “Someone was always there for me. Someone was thinking about me. It just wasn’t Mojo.”

“I guess,” said Cass. There was some feeling banging around in his chest, demanding his attention, but he had eyes only for Enzo’s smile. “I coulda done a lot better than sticky notes, though.”

“Yeah?” said Enzo, challenging, his hands still holding Cass’s face. “What would you’ve said. You know, if you had more space?”

“I woulda said…” Cass swallowed and the words seemed to dry up entirely, and all he could do was stare at Enzo. _I would have spilled a sea of ink for you,_ he thought, _A whole novel just for your eyes, and a sequel for your smile; an encyclopedia for how you make me feel._

Maybe Enzo was getting good at reading his expressions, or maybe he knew Cass well enough by now that he didn’t need to, but he pulled Cass’s face close and bumped his nose against Cass’s, affectionate and gentle.

“I’ll buy you one of them blank books,” Enzo said, “You can write it all down for me. And for you? I'll even read it."


End file.
